


Love Me Do

by flippyspoon



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: 60's AU, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy is a rocker. Thomas is a square. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Do

**York**

**March 1963**

 

Jimmy was on the street for five minutes when he realized that if it rained today the hour he had spent on his perfect pompadour would go to waste.  He sniffed and shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, dodging a car as he trotted across a street to a newsstand.  All the magazines he might  want, he already had.  What he needed were cigarettes.

Which the newsstand didn’t sell.

“Bloody fuckery,” Jimmy said.

“Watch your mouth, son,” the codger at the newssstand said.  He shook his head.  “Rockers…”

Jimmy shifted on his feet.  He could swear he felt a drop on his nose.  The clouds were grey.  

The cuffs of his dungarees were carefully rolled.  His boots were new.  He’d finally found a halfway decent job at a grocer’s.  It was bollocks really.  Just shelving and stocking and delivering groceries.  Though the manager didn’t much go for rockers.  Jimmy had to clean up nice for work.

Which he hated.

But it was that or the street since his parents had died.

He already owed too much money to his flatmates, Alfie and Will.  They lived in squalor, but the place was close to a decent scene and a record shop. Which was usually where Jimmy’s money went, when he had any.

Today was his day off.  Well, now it was nearly evening.  He’d done nothing good either but listen to records in the flat and smoke a little reefer.  Alfie and Will were off with their girlfriends- nice girls who shouldn’t be dating rockers.  Ivy and Daisy- so fresh and bright eyed they threatened to strip you of your hip.

Finally he’d wandered out, half-high.  He left the newsstand and strolled, feeling lonely.  

But he tried to look tough.

At the Rialto Theatre he saw a bloody gorgeous man (tall, dark, handsome, dangerously broody perhaps) wearing a posh double-breasted suit and smoking as he leaned against the window under the marquee.  Jimmy generally avoided men he thought were handsome, it was easier that way.

That was why he lived with Alfie and Will.

On the other hand, he needed a smoke or he might die.

The marquee of the theatre he refused to even glance at.  He knew The Beatles were playing there.  Bloody fuckery.  He couldn’t afford it and it was sold out anyway.  He had only heard “Love Me Do” on the radio, as money times as he could stand.  Though so far that limit had not actually been reached.  But Alfie had seen them play in Liverpool while visiting relatives and he couldn’t shut up about them.  Jimmy had refused to speak to him for a week on general principle.

“Spare a fag, pop?”  Jimmy said.

The smoker looked up at him, his black hair was slicked back but for one lock that fell over his eye like some promise of rebellion.  His suit said business but his posture and the way he held his cigarette said fuck all.

Jimmy saw the way the smoker’s eyes looked him up and down for the briefest moment and he died a little bit inside.

_Just get your bloody cigarette and get out_ , he thought.

“I’ll give ya one, if you don’t call me that,” the smoker said.  

His accent was working class.  It was jarring next to the way he carried himself.

“Sorry, old man,” Jimmy said, smirking.

Jimmy saw the hint of a smile on the smoker’s face.  “You want the fag or not?”

He cleared his throat.  “Yeah, my apologies, Mr. Upright Citizen sir.  Would ya be so very kind as to lend a poor rocker a cigarette if it isn’t too much trouble?”

The man only leaned and inhaled.  The way he sucked in his cheeks as he did so gave Jimmy flashes of a dozen different lurid fantasies.  He bit the inside of his lip.

“Cheeky,” the man muttered.  “I like that.”  He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and flipped it open, offering it to Jimmy.  Jimmy took the cigarette and was about to leave when he realized he had no matches.  “Got a light?”

“You’re rather destitute aren’t you?”  The man said.  “Here, we’ll kiss-”

“Huh?”  Jimmy almost bolted.

“Our cigarettes.”  He chuckled and stuck his cigarette in his mouth, nodding at Jimmy.

“Oh.”  Jimmy mimicked him and touched the end of his fag to the smoker’s.  He inhaled and their eyes met as his cigarette lit up.  He felt himself starting to get hard.   “Hmm.”  He leaned away after a dizzying moment.

“I’m Thomas Barrow,” the smoker said.  Jimmy should’ve said thank you and run.  He should have, but he didn’t.  His feet were stuck.

“I’m Jimmy,” he found himself saying.  “Jimmy Kent.”

They shook hands and Jimmy cursed himself.  He hadn’t deigned to shake hands with anyone since he’d let his hair grow long, not even his boss.

Thomas exhaled through his nose and leaned back against his window.  “So Jimmy Jimmy Kent, do ya like The Beatles?  They’re playing here on Wednesday.”

Jimmy scowled.  It was a terribly sore subject.  
“Yeh, I know.  Do I look like I can afford the Rialto?”  He sneered.  He could picture the scene in the theater now; posh little girls and their sniffling posh mums and dads who couldn’t care less about good rock and roll.  Now he was annoyed, even if Thomas Barrow was beautiful.  Perhaps partly because Thomas Barrow was beautiful.  “What, do you like The Beatles?”

Thomas smiled and tipped ash off his cigarette.  “I suppose ‘cause I don’t grow my hair up to the streetlights I can’t fancy rock and roll?”  He nodded at the theater.  “I manage the box office here.  I could get you in, if ya like?”

Jimmy was taken aback.  He wondered for a moment if the man would expect something of him in return.  But The Beatles…

“Why…why would you do that for me?”  Jimmy asked.

Thomas dropped his ciggy on the ground and stomped it out.  “You’re rude and petulant and I’m guessing you have no patience for authority.”  He nodded to himself.  “I respect that.”

Jimmy couldn’t help but blurt a laugh.  But now he allowed himself to imagine really seeing the band everyone was talking about live…  Their album was coming out in just a couple of weeks.

“Well, that would be… _gear_.  That would be brilliant.  Are you joking?”

Thomas smiled now genuinely.  “No joke.  Alright.  Look, come to the box office here an hour before the show.  I’ll be there.”

“Wow. Well, thanks.  Um…Thomas.”  He shook Thomas’s hand again.

“No trouble.  Got to be getting back in.  Nice meeting you.”

“You too!”  He watched Thomas go back inside and when he was gone Jimmy spun around on the heel of his boot and pumped his fist.  “Gear!”

 

Jimmy was on cloud nine for the next three days.  Though it had taken some convincing for Alfie and Will to even believe his story.  Alfie had crossed his arms at the table as they ate cereal out of a box.  The wireless was playing rubbish.  

“A man gave you a cigarette and invited you to see the bloody Beatles?  Why’d he do that then?”  Alfie’s stupid ginger pompadour looked ridiculous, Jimmy thought.

“He likes me,” Jimmy said.  He blushed terribly.

Alfie and Will guffawed and Jimmy scowled.  “What?”

“So you’ve got yourself a sugar daddy then?” Afie said.

“It’s not like- Oh, shut up!” He threw the box of cereal at Alfie’s head.

But on Wednesday night he was giddy, though nervous from the anticipation.  He supposed it was equal parts the thought of finally seeing The Beatles and again seeing Thomas Barrow with his broad chest and knife-sharp cheekbones.  He combed his hair up in his usual pompadour but bought himself a cheap tie and jacket because it was a theater after all.  On the way, he was a ball of nerves.  What if Thomas had completely forgotten about him?  What if he was away from the box office when Jimmy showed up? What if The Beatles were sick?

But at the box office he found a mob of people, which he shoved through, to get to Thomas at his window, smiling widely at him.  Thomas waved him over to a side door and let him in.

“Look at you,” Thomas said.  “All dressed up.  You get that tie free with a box of Weetabix or something?”

Jimmy grinned and kicked at Thomas’s shoe.  “Fuck off.”

“Bit of bad news though-

“What?” Jimmy stomach dropped.

“Apparently one of em’ is ill. Lennon.  So it’ll be the rest of them.”

“Oh.  Well…that’s alright!”

He could hardly complain.  Though it was a dash disappointing.

Jimmy would’ve been happy to watch the concert from a dark corner of the nosebleeds but Thomas led him through side doors and hallways until they were backstage.  Jimmy’s heart was racing as they chatted about this and that while the dull headliners played and then before Jimmy knew it three lads in mod grey round-collared suits were bopping out past them.

Jimmy clutched Thomas’s arm.  

That was before they started playing.  It all went by too quickly.  Just six short songs.

But Jimmy was enchanted.

He forgot to let go of Thomas’s arm.

Afterwards he found himself giggling like mad and smoking reefer in a broom closet of the Rialto with Thomas.

“Can’t wait for the album,” Jimmy mumbled while trying to hold his smoke.  He exhaled after a beat.  Thomas had taken off his jacket.  He was devastating in his shirt, his tie undone, his sleeves rolled up as he leaned against a shelf.

The man was a champion leaner.  “So what do ya do when you’re not out bein’ a hooligan?”

“I work in a market,” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes.  “At Benson’s.  I’m a stock boy.  I live with two other blokes.”

“Gotta girlfriend?”

Jimmy shook his head.

“Ah…” Thomas glanced away and stood up straight. Jimmy barely noticed when he took another step closer.

“So…”  Jimmy muttered needlessly.

Then suddenly Thomas’s lips were on his.

It felt bloody brilliant but panic gripped Jimmy and he shoved Thomas away.  “What’re ya doin’!”

Thomas sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “Ah…”

“I’m not a poofter!”

Thomas nodded.  “Right.  Look, I’m sorry.  I thought…I thought there was something between us-”

“Well, there isn’t!”  He’d dropped his joint and he stamped it out, not thinking.  “Is that why you let me in?  You thought you’d get somethin’ in return-”

“No!”  Thomas said, his eyes wide.  “No, it’s not like that!  I just like you.”

“I’m no rent boy and I’m no poofter!”

“Alright!  I’m sorry!  Honestly-”

“I-I’ve got to go…”

Then Jimmy was on the sidewalk, breathless. He didn’t remember running all the way through the theater.

A little over a week later The Beatles’ first album  _Please Please Me_  came out.  Jimmy bought the record rather than food (though he nicked some cans of beans from Benson’s) and listened to the songs endlessly and thought of Thomas, wishing to hell he’d kissed him back, and knowing he never would have.

Sometimes after work he even found himself walking to the Rialto just to see if Thomas would be outside smoking.

He never was.

Jimmy was sulking while half-heartedly shelving green beans one day when he heard Thomas’s voice behind him.

“Hello…”

Jimmy whipped around and dropped a can of beans.  Thomas picked it up and handed it to him.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Jimmy snapped.  Though his heart was fluttering.  

He also felt stupid in his awful white apron when Thomas was in his typically sophisticated suit.

“I just…wanted to apologize again,” Thomas said.  “And I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Well, I’ve already seen three of The Beatles,” Jimmy mumbled.  “So unless you’ve got John Lennon outside-”

“There’s a job opening at the Rialto,” Thomas said.  “You’d be an usher, page, work the box office…  You’d see a lot of good shows and the pay’s better than here.”

Jimmy chewed on his lip.  He stood there dumbly holding his green beans and finally said, “I can never give you what you want, ya know.”

“I know,” Thomas said, wincing.  “I just…like to be friends.”

Jimmy considered this and nodded slowly.  Finally he smiled.  “Right.  Right, of course. Fair enough.”

Thomas was a lot more fun to get high with than Alfie and Will, that was for sure.

Then Thomas smiled shyly and ducked his head in a way that made Jimmy want to kiss him again.  “Thank you, Jimmy.”

“Well… H-have you told them I’m a rocker?”  He said, smirking now.

“God no,” Thomas said with a chuckle.  “Mr. Carson would go mad.  One thing at a time. Now ditch that apron and come with me.”

 

Jimmy started his new job a few days later.

He and Thomas quickly became best mates.

Sometimes they’d go out for a pint after work but eventually Thomas became a fixture in Jimmy’s hovel of a flat.  Alfie and Will only gave each other knowing looks when the handsome man in a suit would come over with Jimmy, a case of beer in hand.  Thomas would take off his jacket and they’d get high and talk for hours while listening to records or watching telly, splayed out on the sofa.  Thomas was always winding up Alfie and Will too, which was endlessly amusing.  

The way Thomas looked at him sometimes still made Jimmy blush.

But Thomas never tried anything.  He was an angel.

Still in the morning as Jimmy fixed his hair he’d find himself singing “Love Me Do” while thinking of Thomas Barrow…

Though at work he had to call him Mr. Barrow.

But never with a straight face.

Jimmy really started to breakdown when one night Thomas was over, down to a t-shirt, and “She Loves You” started to play on the wireless.  Thomas was drunk.  He sprang up from his spot on the sofa and started dancing like a fool around the flat, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, his hair flopping over into his eyes.

Jimmy knelt on the sofa, watching Thomas over the back and said far too quietly for Thomas to hear: “God, I fucking love you.”

But he didn’t say it.  Instead he remained friends with Thomas, who kept encouraging him to go find a girl.  Sometimes he found himself singing the song as “ _H_ e Loves You.”  Will corrected him more than once.

Then it was November.  And a lot of strange things happened.

The American President was killed which was an awful shock and made everyone at least uneasy if not frightened.  Thomas came over the next day looking stoic and they ended up watching a weird television show about an old man and a girl in a big box who could travel through time.  But it was nice to be with someone you cared about when the world was scary.

But a few days later The Beatles were back at the Rialto.

When they played “You Really Got a Hold On Me” Jimmy was standing close to Thomas backstage, feeling his breath puff against his cheek.  Thomas watched the band, but all Jimmy felt all around him was Mr. Barrow.

Afterwards they went out for a pint and by the time they left the pub the streets were empty.  Jimmy was giddy with love and as Thomas walked him back to the flat, Jimmy let himself throw an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

Then before he could give it even a thought, he started singing “Do You Want to Know a Secret.”  At first it was a loud boisterous rendition.  But then he was quietly singing into Thomas’s ear, “Closer, let me whisper in your ear… Say the words you want to hear… I’m in love with you…”

Afterwards his heart was beating so fast he thought he might be in danger, but he laughed nervously and stepped away, running a hand through his hair.

Thomas looked very serious.

Then they arrived at Jimmy’s flat.

“Uh…you want to come up?”  Jimmy said.

“It’s late…” Thomas said, gazing with his intense blue eyes.

“Come up,” Jimmy said.

“Will and Alfie-”

“Are in Manchester,” Jimmy said, his eyes on Thomas’s shoes.  “Come up for a drink.”

It was three flights up and when they got inside Jimmy suddenly became concerned that the flat wasn’t tidy enough and ran around shoving rubbish into the waste bin and stuffing dirty clothes into hampers as Thomas stood by the door, his jacket over his arm.

“Jimmy…?”  Thomas said.

“Just um…want to straighten up,” Jimmy said.  He put  _Please Please Me_  on the record player, but not too loudly.  They’d gotten too many complaints already.

“Jimmy, I don’t mean to bring this sort of thing up, but I have to ask… That song… I…”

Jimmy took off his leather jacket and took Thomas’s suit jacket from him and tossed them both on a chair.  He kicked off his boots.  Feeling suddenly a little short.

Thomas went on.  “I don’t think you mean to imply anything only…”

Jimmy turned around and rested his hands on Thomas’s shoulders.  He pulled Thomas forward and kissed him softly.  It felt lovely, but not as good as he knew it could and he pressed in again, kissing Thomas more with more purpose.  Finally Thomas wrapped his arms around Jimmy, who parted his lips and felt a wonderfully perfect tongue.  They stood necking for a bit and then Thomas pulled away just to stare at Jimmy, gobsmacked.

“I…uh…didn’t know…um…”  Thomas babbled.

Jimmy smiled and started unknotting Thomas’s tie.  “Look, I only love two things,” Jimmy said, feeling now very sure of himself.  “I love you and rock and roll.  In that order.”

Thomas looked at him like a confused puppy.

“You love me more than rock and roll?”

“Well…” Jimmy shrugged and threw Thomas’s tie over his shoulder.  “Just barely.”

They went back to kissing as Jimmy went about unbuttoning Thomas’s shirt.  Jimmy walked backward to the sofa, tugging Thomas by his t-shirt.  Then they were barechested and Jimmy found out what it was like to have his nipples tongue kissed by Thomas Barrow.  For a while they only necked and kissed each other’s chests.

Then the record ran out.

Jimmy rose with a little moan and went to turn it over.

“Masochist!” Thomas cried.

“I just…want the two things I love at once,” Jimmy said.

He plopped back down on the sofa, and threw his arms around Thomas’s neck, straddling him.  Thomas fixed him with an intent gaze and then twisted around, laying Jimmy down and crouching above him.  He tugged on Jimmy’s dungarees.  “Can I take these off?”

“Yeah…”

Thomas struggled to pull off Jimmy’s trousers and they fell to the floor, giggling.  Jimmy reached up and grabbed the afghan off the couch and spread it under them and seeing Thomas naked and casually grinning, he pulled Thomas down on top of him.

Then they were both naked and Jimmy was sweating as they pressed up against each other.  And later Thomas was seated atop him, pressing his hands to Jimmy’s chest as Jimmy thrust up into him and they kissed.  Jimmy shouted when he came.  He attempted to reciprocate by giving Thomas a fumbling blow-job which Thomas later claimed was “endearing.”

The record was long over by the time Jimmy law sprawled and spent on the afghan as Thomas lazily kissed his way from prick to lips.

“I’ll be…better next time,” Jimmy said, still breathless.

“Shut it, you’re brilliant,” Thomas muttered.  “And I love you too.”

Jimmy’s heart leapt.

Not that he hadn’t guessed it.

Thomas started softly singing “Love Me Do” into Jimmy’s skin.

Jimmy bit his lip.  His face hurt from smiling so much.

“Funny thought,” Thomas said, and looked up at Jimmy,  smirking.  “I thought you weren’t a poofter?”

“I’m not a poofter,” Jimmy said, and kissed his boyfriend again.  “I’m a rocker.”


End file.
